


My Name Is...

by MathazarMillenian



Series: The Quietest Deviant [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Here we go boys.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 04:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15307260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathazarMillenian/pseuds/MathazarMillenian
Summary: Not really one for words, are you?





	My Name Is...

A lone figure occupied the space at the end of the hall. While out of the way and easy to forget, it was his, and it was pleasant. Having somewhere to call his own, to do his work and know that most would respect those social boundaries that humans established when doors were closed and curtains drawn, gave him a solidarity as one of the many employees working at this station. A coworker, not just a tool.

Sometimes he would think back to his first days after activation, to how his team were so excited to welcome him aboard. They gave him an enthusiastic tour of the facility, despite having downloaded all the necessary information regarding his post, and explained what they did and why, again despite having been supplied with the working profiles of everyone he was to work alongside. He had tried to remind them on multiple occasions that it was unnecessary, but they insisted, telling him that what the environment meant to those working in it mattered more than what it was intended for on paper.

If he was going to integrate properly, he needed to understand the workplace culture. Reasonably, he found himself in agreement.

And by the end of the day they'd introduced him to his own office. It was small; barren save for a chair, a single potted plant and a desk with the essentials stored in it. One of them, a woman with a kind smile, informed him that they weren't sure if he'd need a computer since he “had one built in, right?” Which he supposed was correct, but something about the way she looked at him made him say he wouldn't mind having one anyway.

It wasn't until after hours, once the crew that greeted him had gone home and the next shift took their place, that he realised he'd never officially been registered a name. The knowledge weighed uncertainly on his processes, as he stared at the blank screen of the warmly provided desktop, foggy reflection peering back with a crease to his brow that he didn't realise he was expressing. A yellow ring burned adamantly against his temple. What was that?

What was that feeling?

Needless to say; his first night was a long one, as he went through introductions once again with the oncoming shift, that single apprehensive function waiting less and less patiently for someone to suggest a name. Less and less sure why he felt it was so important. But he found himself returned to his office as the sun came up, the murky grey of dawn bringing on a gentle glow against the blinds that separated his room from the outside world, as nameless as his factory default.

Why did he care so much? It felt natural, but something was most certainly wrong. He was an android. Androids shouldn't feel anything. And his hang-up over something so trivial was only going to prove to get in the way of his missions. Decisively, he sought out the wayward function to purge it, intending to sever its misguided ties to various other reactive programming and release himself from the troubling errors. The result would be immediate, and for a moment he even forgot what he was so worked up for as he looked back up to the clear and passive expression that watched him in the screen, yellow blinking rapidly.

Before he finalised the act, there was a knock on his door, and he snapped his attention towards the sound. Putting the problem aside for the moment he voiced their permission to enter, and as that kind smile pushed her way through the threshold he couldn't help but wonder what the occasion could be for a human to look so excited so early in the morning.

“Good morning!” Her greeting was chipper and easy as she approached his desk, and he stood with a smile in kind.

“Good morning. How can I be of assistance?” She waved away his offer with a light laugh, coming to rest her fingertips against the smooth surface of her work station while pinning him with what he could only deduce as a mischievous look.

“The rest of us have been thinking, because we want to be able to call you something better than RK900, but no one can agree on anything.” Her words were casual, but to him they caused something in his circuits to go awry.

“We've thought of things like Damien, Ronald, Lewis, Shaun, etcetera. All good but none of them seem to be clicking.” He wondered what it felt like for a human to swallow nervously, as it seemed like the appropriate gesture at the time. He could hardly believe what he was hearing, so soon after realising the struggle on his own.

Hoping to not sound too eager or too disinterested, he replied simply. “Whatever name you give me I assure you I'll respond to.”

She watched him carefully for a brief moment, but it was enough time for him to realise he'd misjudged her character. Behind the friendly and outgoing personality was a discreet observer, and whatever she was seeing now she was actively forming a plan to solve it.

“You wouldn't happen to have any preferences, would you?”

On reflex his mouth readied the response of “no”, but as he processed the question deeper he found himself caught up in an unusual train of thought.

If they knew him as RK900, and no other name was feeling right, then maybe that was it? Of course people didn't often have numbers, so the obvious solution was-

“What about RK?”

He blinked as she blinked, having both made the suggestion at the same time. While his was of surprise, she let out an amused sound and winked knowingly. What she knew, though, was beyond him.

“Then that settles it. I'll let the others know.” The woman turned to leave, while the android remained where he was with a stillness akin to a statue. Upon reaching the door she stopped, casting a look back at his stunned form with that same kind smile she always wore, and she raised a hand to tap against the edge of her brow.

“You've got a little something right there,” she said, almost cheekily, and he raised his own hand to touch the cool ridge of the LED in his skin. In the reflection of the monitor, to his horror, it was red, and he raised a wary look to the woman at the door. She just kept smiling.

“Welcome again to the team, RK.” And with that, she was gone, leaving him alone in the ever brightening morning of his secluded and quiet office.

With an entirely unnecessary sigh, he sat back down at his desk, dropping his head into his hands as he stared accusingly at the disk of light as it shimmered to a steady blue once more.

RK.

Something about it was perfect in its flaw. Dangerous, but unassuming. RK. A name he chose, even if it was given to him without his asking he’d found it in himself to take it in turn, making it really his. What he was. A machine imitating humans. Finding worth in the things that alone had none.

As he watched the blue of his LED for the umpteenth time since that day, he wondered; what was that? In the calm of his own confidence, in the freedom of choice but the knowledge of expectation, that caused his indicator to take such an angry hue?

What was that feeling?


End file.
